Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: When Her True Colors Shine
Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Allison found herself pinned against the wide, cold table, the cold seeping into her skin as her vision swirled in a dizzying fog.

You.

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.

She barely managed to speak before her words were swallowed by the fierce pressure of lips.

by Kellan.

He put his arm around her waist and brushed her fingers against her skin, sending an electric shock up her back.

The sensation was not only searing, it was unforgettable.

Slower, Allison whispered, her breath coming in harsh gasps, as her hand moved to the sharp contours of her waist and her fingers met the hardness beneath.

It was all fire and steel.

Impressive in every way, but he had no sense of tenderness.

But Kellan wasn't listening.

His body moved with a primal urgency, like a predator savoring its rare prey.

Moments ago, they had aimed their weapons at vital organs, but now they were entangled in a dangerous rhythm, fueled by something that consumed them much more.

Let the hate.

Don't move! His voice, rough and grave, filled the air.

His ragged breathing came in short bursts, and that command alone had enough intensity to make anyone's blood heat.

But Allison wasn't just anyone.

Orders never sat well with him.

In one quick movement, she tightened her grip around his neck and placed her other hand on his shoulder, exchanging positions.

She wasn't one to let anyone think she was in control.

Kellan hit the table with a thud, a grunt escaping his lips as he opened his eyes.

The coldness of his gaze had melted into something more confusing: confusion.

Allison, who was now straddling him, brushed the strands of hair from her flushed face, her expression of confidence leaving no room for doubt.

Her chest heaved with the effort of the moment, but her eyes, always unyielding, remained fixed on his.

I will be in charge! Her fingers danced from his throat along his torso, tracing the chiseled muscles beneath her hands.

Kellan's face was partially hidden by shadows, but his body was a sculptor's dream: lean, powerful, a perfect masterpiece in the shape of a sculptor.

V.

They were both using each other, but at that moment it didn't feel like a loss.

She leaned towards him and kissed him again, while her hands moved methodically to unbutton his shirt.

Frustration mounted, she gave up patience and tore at the fabric, her palms resting in the warmth of his chest.

Kellan, who always held the reins, had never experienced someone turning the tables like that.

However, instead of resisting, he let it happen.

Still, his hands clung to her waist as if he could somehow make her a part of him.

Her silhouette was sculpted against the dim light like an artist's muse, each movement bringing them closer to chaos with every second.

Allison leaned her head and kissed him delicately from his neck to his cheek, before placing her lips on those deep, magnetic eyes.

The rest of the night blurred into fragments in her mind.

The only thing she remembered was the sensation of being caught in a violent storm, tossed about by the waves.

At one point, he snapped back to reality for a fleeting second, and the only thing he could focus on was the starlight dancing in her eyes.

What are you doing, he heard himself ask.

It still hasn't worn off.

the drug.

Are you serious? What are you, an animal? And stop biting me.

.

.

not there, idiot! The night continued in a whirlwind of desire and passion.

When she finally woke up, Allison noticed something hard digging into her side.

With difficulty, he reached out and his fingers curled around the cold silver metal of a pistol.

He was just inches from the dagger that had once been at his waist; danger had been his silent witness all night.

He forced himself to sit up, his eyes drifting to the intricate designs on the ceiling, trying to focus.

For a moment, his thoughts spun like a broken record, unable to hold on to anything solid.

The dim room, barely illuminated by the thin rays of light that filtered through the heavy curtains, seemed like a battlefield.

The man next to her was still deep in sleep, his smooth, muscular back rising and falling with his constant breathing.

Allison's head was cloudy and her body ached.

He stood up and dug his toes into the plush carpet, leaning against the back of the couch.

Her legs were weak, shaking from the aftermath of what could only be described as a war between their bodies.

There was chaos everywhere.

A broken vase, petals scattered on the floor, chairs knocked over in the frenzy and condoms abandoned near the bed.

The trail of chaos from the floor to the windowsill marked the wild escapades of the previous night.

He blinked, reality setting in like a splash of cold water.

It hadn't been a feverish dream, it had all been real.

He muttered to himself: He's a real savage! I didn't need a mirror to see the evidence.

Bruises, bite marks, and teeth marks dotted his waist in furious purples and reds, painting a picture of the previous night's ferocity.

Even his thighs were a mass of violent colors.

Where the hell did he come from, he wondered aloud, while his mind played with the absurd idea of ​​suffocating him with a pillow, just to see if he could get away with it.

The man, still Under the effects of the drug, he lay unconscious with his face buried in the pillow.

On his back were the red scratches from the woman's nails, testimony to the night they had spent together.

Allison poured herself a glass of water, the coolness restoring her lucidity as she contemplated what to do with it.

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